


forever in my mind and memory

by shepherd



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alcohol, Body Image, Body Worship, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Post-Coital Cuddling, Sleepy Cuddles, Slow Dancing, Unrequited Crush, tags will be updated as chapters added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-09-05 04:32:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16803700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shepherd/pseuds/shepherd
Summary: Fills for Cor Leonis Week on tumblr!DAY TWO: EYESUncertainly he touched her waist and their hands clumsily met again, her fingers curling into his. Her nails were long and a deep blue, like sapphires, matching the colour of her swaying dress. Cor’s fatigues were dull and dark, thin boots graceless against the messy tiles. Aulea stepped close to him, the way Cor would never admit he was too frightened to commit to himself, and that sweet scent caught in his nostrils. The pulse of blood roared in his ears.“Good,” she murmured, as if Cor had done more than simply stand and tremble. “And one, two, three…”





	1. scars

Remarkably soft fingertips ghosted along the bare skin of Cor’s chest, gentle pads roaming barely south of his stark collarbones and even that simple, barely there touch lead Cor slowly back to Eos from the nothingness.

It was not yet morning. Cor’s bedroom was still shrouded in complete darkness, not even a hint of light gleaming underneath the firmly drawn curtains. Frost still coated the glass. He was left wondering for dazed moments what exactly had stirred him from peaceful sleep. He gazed up at his cracking ceiling, hyper aware of the cool silk of his sheets and the warm body laid out beside him - and then, that hand.

It was pleasant in a way that was barely familiar to Cor. Before this moment Cor had never been a man or remarkable intimacy - he grappled, snatched, twisted. No one wanted an old soldier such as him for a lover, his once soft edges hacked and carved until only jagged shards remained. There was no embracing stone. And it was all too clear to him that every piece of him was the same, unyielding and rough, as coarse as sun cracked leather - but Amais -

Amais touched him like he didn’t see any of that.

Cor inhaled deeply, right down to the core of his belly and those fingers paused in their long journey. The points of pressure remained, dipped in the hollow between his clavicles. In the quiet Cor could hear his companion's own breathing. It came softer, steadier than his own,

A moment of weakness, and here they were. Sleep absconded like it had never been there at all, his body suddenly restless, imagination running wild. Every joint was aching, the way that could only be sated with a good long run, the kind Cor favoured but he had no way to flee without destroying something precious. Cor’s hands were careless enough. Pretending like this had never happened would be crushing them both.

“Sorry,” Amais said, as low as a whisper. He nuzzled closer, as if he could settle right there in Cor's heart for good. If he could have, Cor would have happily let him. “I shouldn’t have… I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Cor allowed himself to exhale. A whistle of air escaped him in a sigh and he said nothing. Amais was enticingly warm, as sweet and as sensitive as he had been when Cor settled flush against him and sank deep inside, a groan caught inside his raw throat. Cor wanted his lips again - he wanted more, all that Amais could give him. Amais would happily give him anything, had always given too much. But in the moment it was arrogance to ask. 

"It's fine," Cor lied, far gruffer than he had intended. There was grit in his throat like the sleep that gathered in the corners of his eyes, and the hope in his heart had been a modest flicker for all too long. It was beginning to wane. Amais' heart beat in time with his, surely. Surely Amais would know what he couldn't say through words. 

Wordlessly, he stretched out to soothe the aches and pains. His long limbs escaped the blankets he had piled up to protect them from the deep chill of the winter. As if automatically Amais shifted to move with him, cheek pillowing over Cor's chest. Cor saw the glint of his eyes, the strong line of his nose and the shadow of his lashes. They settled a little awkwardly against each other, gangly bodies not quite a perfect fit like Cor had allowed himself to dream. Amais lay in the empty space Cor's removed prosthetic left void, and he lay content enough for his fingers to slip down to the heavily built muscle of Cor's stomach. They splayed out, a spread of heat against him, and Cor couldn't help but murmur in his satisfaction. 

Amais hummed in turn. Those eyes shimmered in the darkness. A tap dripped steadily in Cor's ensuite, irritatingly audible through the door left ajar and irregular enough to be frustrating. But Cor's spine curved impossibly perfectly against his new too soft mattress, the one he had brought on impulse just to impress the man he longed to bring home, caught between the dream of a companion and the reality of decades of silent nights. Loathe as he was to admit it, the fresh feel alongside Amais' presence was too enticing. It was like sleeping in nothing but the plushness of a single pillow, sinking deeply underneath his weight. After years of military bunks, rough haven stones and Cor's lumpy old mattress tossed out to rot with the rest of it - decades old if not more, already there waiting when he first moved into his apartment - it was too much on lonely nights. But Amais had like it. His body had been close to Cor's as they stepped into the protection of his apartment and he hadn't seemed to notice as Cor stalked the rooms, following Citadel security protocols in his own home purely out of habit, hands curling around the unsummoned hilt of his blade. He had laughed when Cor had kissed the line of his throat and purred when he had been splayed out on the bed, all too happily permitted Cor to entice him with careful touches. Cor's lover, dare he say it and make it true, had looked at him like he wasn't a struggle to love, wasn't a mess of parts thrown together in the mockery of a man, and Cor had almost felt normal. Or, at the very least, the closest to it that Cor knew.

But when Amais kissed him in turn everything fled. Each assumption, each fact, every thought. Amais touched flesh and scar tissue like they were one and the same. Not once had he flinched away, even when Cor had been at his ugliest. Cor had shivered, vulnerable in the cold, and Amais hadn’t cared.

Barely south of Amais' hand was a long, thick scar, the gnarled old flesh knotted up into something that made history his present every damn day. 

Just above Cor's collarbones there were knicks and tears - older, smaller scars from innocent mistakes in his first uncertain years shaving with no guide. Amongst them was a slice from a dagger, shallow and thin but haunting and impossible to hide without a impossibly high collar. The kiss of steel was a memory all too close at hand. Nowhere was safe from the flash of silver, the cold fire, and there was no skin unmarred. 

"Stop thinking so much, love," Amais murmured, hot breath billowing across Cor's chest. His cheek couldn't have been comfortable. But he never budged. "Go back to sleep."

"You know I don't think," he replied, hoping to get laughter or at minimum a small smile. He settled his hand over Amais' when none came, curling over it and lightly squeezing. Even that touch felt like too much. He tried not to think about how unforgivably rough his callouses must have been. "Nothing needs to be switched off if there's nothing there in the first place."

Amais sighed, low and long. Cor found the taste of his disbelief and weariness, something that was bitter on his tongue. Cor caressed his knuckles, tracing little patterns. Meaningless little things, figures of eight and swipes from side to side. "I can feel you doing it. I swear, one day that brain of yours will fry."

"I'm not," Cor insisted, a little half truth, as he choked down an overwhelming bite of discontent. The entire length of Amais' body had grown tense, rigid against his side. His skin was silken, so soft it didn't seem real, but Amais' spine rest as heavy as steel. "I'm not living doom and gloom like you all think. How can I, with a man like you naked in my bed?"

Amais' brows quirked. He laughed softly and a little tension melted away, though the heavy pressure of his hand and the line of his spine spoke volumes. "Then let me hold you," he asked, and turned his head to kiss his ribs. There were scars there too, pale grooves of a knife too close to slipping between his ribs for comfort. The exit wound of a bullet, a large circle, scars spiralling like a spider’s web. The entrance wound was no prettier. "Fall back to sleep with me. Don't rush to get up and work as always." Amais touched his forehead to Cor’s belly, and he could feel the heat of his sigh. “I hoped we were on the same page tonight. I thought I had gone home with Cor.”

And he had. Back at the gala Amais had been in the company of the Marshal, tight laced and unapologetic in his painstaking devotion to security. No drinks, no dances, no matter how Amais looked at him from across the room with such longing. And then Regis had retreated to his quarters and the party had begun to wind down in earnest, nobles and ambassadors politely making their excuses, and then Titus had offered him a small drink in celebration of a job well done. And then Nyx had plied him with another, ‘glaives eager to let their hair down after weeks of tightened security and double, triple checking, and then Crowe had almost spilt a drink down him as she pressed it into his hand with a wicked smile and a daring challenge. It took far more than that to render Cor useless, far more drinks than he would allow himself to enjoy, but his mind was fuzzy enough to see no harm in a single dance. One twirl of the hall with Amais’ sweet laughter filling his ears, and then it was only a matter of time before they were pressed together in far more intimate ways, Amais grasping him tight and Cor eager for him, eager for his touch.

Cor remembered every step home. The buzz had worn off the moment Cor had to fish for his keys, and the marshal had been left at the Citadel for the first time in years. All those feats of legend had been dumped at the door and now, for Amais, Cor had rendered himself mortal.

A moment of Cor's hesitation and silence, stewing in the events of the night, was all Amais needed to act. He moaned softly in the bottom of his chest and sat up. The motion was cold - the sudden temporary absence of pleasant warmth, the awful knowledge that Cor was truly unloveable, even by one such as Amais. Cor laced their fingers together in protest, breathed his name as if a plea for him not to go, not yet, and then Amais was upon him.

Chapped lips pressed against the vulnerable underside of his throat. Amais' hand slid free from Cor's to settle on the width of his shoulders. Cor inhaled sharply, stunned under his weight as Amais settled chest to chest, expression content. His fingertips rubbed reassurances until Cor was softened enough to his liking, all muscles relaxing, and Cor could feel Amais' small, self satisfied smile as he peppered kisses along the line of his throat. Cor prayed he had missed no spots in his careful shave that morning. He tilted his head back nonetheless, sighing so softly he barely made a sound, and then Amais brushed against the scar tissue. "Let me help you relax."

The anxiety coiled around his windpipe. Like wire it constricted, rough and cutting off his oxygen, dry lips like hot clay, cracking and burning. Cor closed his eyes and licked his lips, sweltering again in seconds. Amais lingered over the length of his scar and Cor battled with the urge to cover himself completely and push his most loved ones away. It was pathetic in his mind. It was childish. But the scars throbbed as if brand new, no matter how gently Amais treasured him, and the way he kissed them was soothing and agonising all in one.

Cor had no idea how powerfully he had been trembling until Amais pulled away. There was a weakness to his limbs that was unknown to him. Hands stroked over curves and hard ridges in equal measure, scars and soft flesh, and Amais openly loved it all. One last kiss was pressed over his heart, lips tasting how it raced to meet his touch, and Amais pulled away slowly.

In the developing darkness, Cor's eyes adjusting over time, Amais' eyes were newly mournful.

"I want you to be happy," he said, with a weak, terrible waver to his voice that clenched Cor's heart. "I want you to know how much I care. I didn't just come home with you for the thrill of it," he swallowed, hard. "I want you to be happy. With me."

"I know." Even if the doubt devoured him each day, Cor knew that friendly eyes were upon him always. Clarus was his big brother who loved him fiercely, and Regis was the one who looked up to him despite the modest gap in their years, in the way only a lost prince could. Aulea listened to all he had to say, eagerly watched all he had to do with pride and Sorrel frequently pushed him past the limits of what he could manage every single day, picking him up when he lost footing and congratulating him when he stood fast. And Amais had wormed his way inside to be part of his heart, longing to share in his triumphs and despairs. Yet, the deepest part of Cor was desperate to shove him away in fear of what ugliness Amais might find hidden amongst Cor’s intricacies. "I know."

Amais' smile wobbled, pulled uncomfortably tight, and it was a struggle to push all else away. The past and the future didn’t matter, not when they were sharing a comfortable present. Cor could feel the ghost of every kiss, obscuring the pain of every scar enough to make it bearable. He sat up, shrugging Amais’ hand free for long enough to steady his arm around him entirely, pulling him up closer. Amais went willingly, expression alighting with hope. Their legs slipped together, tangling in a way that would be terribly confusing in the grogginess of dawn. “Come on,” Cor said, even when his words seemed far beyond his reach. “I promise I’ll be here. Alright? I’ll be here come morning.”

Amais leant in. He could almost count every crease in eager lips, the morning almost already arriving. The sun was slowly rising, illuminating the gap underneath the curtains, rousing the world outside. "Do you mean it?" There was something in Amais' eyes that made them shimmer. Birds, Cor realised, were beginning to sing in the first touches of daylight. 

"I do," Cor vowed into the fading darkness, rough and uncertain, and kept his arm settled firmly against the breadth of Amais’ back. Soft hands settled back against him and Amais willingly surrounded his lover, matching him in vulnerability and anxiety, his heart thumping hard. A smile curved those lips that Cor longed to make his again - unsure, for now, but ready to bloom when he woke in his lover’s arms.

They stayed there until the dawn had chased away the last of the darkness, legs intertwined, breathing as one.


	2. eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uncertainly he touched her waist and their hands clumsily met again, her fingers curling into his. Her nails were long and a deep blue, like sapphires, matching the colour of her swaying dress. Cor’s fatigues were dull and dark, thin boots graceless against the messy tiles. Aulea stepped close to him, the way Cor would never admit he was too frightened to commit to himself, and that sweet scent caught in his nostrils. The pulse of blood roared in his ears.
> 
> “Good,” she murmured, as if Cor had done more than simply stand and tremble. “And one, two, three…”

Cor might never have been a boy particularly blessed with a soft touch, or at all confident in his charm but never before had he felt like such a lumbering beast.

Each footfall seemed as loud as a shattering strike of Titan’s fist against the earth. They had cleared an entire hall for him, a wide circle with each heavy table shoved out of the way. It had left dust and grooves in the tile but there was no time to fuss - staff ran backwards and forwards in a desperate hurry, last minute preparations to tidy the entire Citadel top to bottom for the arrival of guests. The circle had been ordered to give the pretense of privacy. It was all to plain how they lingered by the walls, hands busy with scrubbing or ordering or organizing, but they murmured and they laughed as they worked. Cor knew better. Everyone knew all too well how talk spread too easily. Most had learnt it the hard way.

_ Ignore them,  _ Aulea had said with a wave of her hand.  _ Keep your eyes on me and watch carefully. _

It was easier said than done. Every raised voice in the still painfully unfamiliar Lucian tongue felt like a stinging insult, every grumble a dismissive curse. Bits and pieces were haltingly translated in his overactive mind, every pronoun tailored towards him and his queen, comments on an unknown woman’s behaviour transformed into ugly comments on Aulea’s honesty. Every inch of Cor burnt. The tips of his ears scalded with the shame and he longed to be anywhere but there. Carving through demons or plucking cactuar needles from his thighs. Knee deep in muck or coeurl guts. Cor willed himself there, the blistering sun on his skin and soda he had stolen sweet on his tongue and rotting away his teeth, but Aulea’s perfume kept bringing him back to the present.

It was overwhelming in every way, just like the woman who wore it. Cor hadn’t known a scent so artificial and cloying but he couldn’t get enough of it. It was some flower, a topic Cor knew the barest minimum about but it filled him up, lingered long after she had criticised her farewell, and Cor’s thoughts brimmed with her at every hour. She left an impression like no other. 

Aulea smiled at him, pretty pink lips and pearly white teeth and it only fanned the flames that consumed him. No matter how hard he tried to quash them for his sake, for Regis’, they always came back when she smiled. “You’re doing very well,” she said, and if she lied Cor could detect no tightness in her mouth or mirth in her eyes. “We just need to remember our feet.”

_ Our feet. _ Cor almost laughed in her face. Instead he hung his head. “Sorry.”

Her smile refused to dim. “It’s no bother,” she replied, as if some sullen, difficult boy repeatedly stepping on her toes was nothing. They must have been crushed in her tightly pinched shoes. The pale leather was terribly scuffed, grey in some places, and he knew her handmaidens would be writhing in agony that evening. The cost of her shoes alone probably totalled the entirety of Cor’s shabby look. “Shall we try again?”

There was no way of refusing her. Cor had never even dared to try. Uncertainly he touched her waist and their hands clumsily met again, her fingers curling into his. Her nails were long and a deep blue, like sapphires, matching the colour of her swaying dress. Cor’s fatigues were dull and dark, thin boots graceless against the messy tiles. Aulea stepped close to him, the way Cor would never admit he was too frightened to commit to himself, and that sweet scent caught in his nostrils. The pulse of blood roared in his ears.

“Good,” she murmured, as if Cor had done more than simply stand and tremble. “And one, two, three…”

Even with his heart in his throat, Cor followed. They moved in flawless tandem for a few moments, Cor stepping as Aulea moved away, advancing as she retreated. He shifted his weight, focusing on the position of his feet rather than succumbing to certain disaster, and it lifted him to the lofty heights of competence. With each correct and painless step the tension knotting in his shoulders alleviated itself. Relief bubbled up inside and made his form lighter, his furrowed brows loosen. One step melted into another. Aulea matched him for each and the smile bloomed, brightening all, and her laughter drew all eyes. 

“Yes, yes, wonderful,” she lowered their joined hands a touch, squeezing them in encouragement, in joy. “Perfect!”

They slowly circled rather than span, learning to walk together before they could run. Cor wondered very faintly who had taught her, if she had stumbled like he did. Cor had been learning for only an hour but Aulea moved like she was born so graceful, like she was raised dancing even if it was only a minor part of her social calendar. Their lives before could not have been more different. Aulea used it to charm and attract, as a way of soothing political allies and advancing in her position, but it was so easy to forget. Regis had been suckered, openly spoke of how he fell in love at first dance, uncaring that he had fallen for her like so many others before. But she loved him in turn, endeared by the shaggy mess of his dark hair and how he nervously joked with her, peered to her for approval, and that was only the beginning of their story.

His friends had all laughed, teased him mercilessly. Sorrel called him a damn romantic fool suckered by any pretty face but they all knew Aulea wasn’t just any pretty girl. Cor had known that a minute after meeting her, a year ago in the pelting rain out on the plains, and he could only sympathise with Regis wholeheartedly as Aulea lead him in box step. It was all too easy too love a girl like her, patient and kind and everything Cor had ever wanted.

Perfect, she said, and Cor strove to be for her. Love was a silly thing and Cor would rage if anyone cottoned on, knock them clean out if he ever heard any rumours about Aulea’s infidelity or ambitions to the throne. It was difficult enough being ribbed by Clarus when he first heard about their lessons. Regis’ too big mouth had spilled what Cor had hoped would remain a secret and when Clarus turned to him, eyes sparkling like a child handed a fat puppy, Cor had made it all too clear how long Clarus would be left recovering in the medical wing should he say a word about it. Cor would never admit to himself how Aulea made him feel, appreciated and wanted, and every single word of encouragement settled inside his heart and made it home.

It was flawless, until Cor made the simple mistake of glancing up.

Smile lines had formed in the dimples of Aulea’s cheeks. Cor had never been close enough to notice them before. There were touches of gold in her brown eyes, lashes long enough to brush her cheeks when she blinked, and Cor’s heart stuttered. It forgot to beat for a small eternity. So caught up his feet followed suit and faltered. He failed to lift his feet high enough and they scuffed across the surface and all of Cor’s natural instincts in battle, recovering from a blow and steadying for the next, could not save him now. Accidentally kicking her poorly defended feet from his hulking boots, terribly unsuited for delicate dance, he stuttered. “Sorry,” he grit, all of his modest Lucian abandoning him completely in his panic. Aulea’s expression fell for a beat, bouncing back almost immediately as if hoping Cor might not see. It was too late. Disappointment and shame made him clumsy and ruined his pattern completely. Cor quickly found her toes underfoot and leapt back, releasing her, flush taking over his ruddy face. “Are you - are you alright?” He fumbled in a desperate search for the right words. All those lessons, and not a bit of it stuck. Not with her. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, my lady.”

“Oh, no,” Aulea insisted. Her dropped hands hovered uselessly for a moment before the settled over her stomach. She toyed with her jewel, the early engagement ring that Regis had been expected to gift her, as per tradition. Cor hated it. It gleamed until the light and always caught his eye. It was beautiful if you knew no better. According to the oil paintings high on the walls Mor’s own mother wore that same ring when she became engaged to his father, another unhappy marriage in a long line, pinched women and gaunt men. Mor’s waxen skin seemed stretched too thin over his body, bones protruding. The man was not yet fifty. Cor wondered if the stress of rule might render Regis so bare, if Aulea might become as sour as the women on the walls. Until then the ring exposed her worst secrets, twisting when she fret and told half truths. “My mistake. I distracted you when I spoke. I’m terribly sorry, Cor.”

Ignoring the rush that came with his name in her soft voice, Cor knew once was bad enough. Now it was over a half dozen times and the shame festered inside. This was the woman he was expected to protect, would formally swear to do so the moment Cor finally proved himself worthy of Crownsguard in the King’s eyes. Frustrated, he cut his hand sharply through the air. “No more,” he declared. “This is stupid. It’s a waste of your time.I don’t want to dance and I’m shit anyway.”

Aulea straightened her back and blinked. “Cor-”

He cut her off. “Clarus agrees with me. We all know it’s stupid.”

Her nail scraped against the sapphire. She huffed, barely audible, and it puffed out her cheeks. “Like Clarus knows a thing about dance,” she said. “You should see the state of Sorrel’s feet at the end of every gala! I’m surprised she even has toes left. Ignore him, love - this is your first lesson. No one’s perfect right away.”

“I can’t even boxstep,” Cor shot back, faltering momentarily over the term. There was no dancing in his past, no fanciful moments to spare. A boy like Cor didn’t spend his time chasing girls, and any girls he knew never gave him a second look even if he did - too short, too fierce, a firecracker with a knack for getting himself into trouble and swinging his way out with the scraps of his dignity. A short kid with a lanky body and scruff of hair on his chin wasn’t impressive. Cor could only stand and listen as the future queen rattled off a list of words that meant nothing to him. Names for silly moments between the high and mighty, dances that would invoke jealousy and anger, love and lust, somehow bring together countries for the good of Lucis. Cor had known so little of the conniving, scheming moves of human beings until he had stepped into the world of Insomnia. It was all so below him, he had thought, until he watched Regis and Aulea share a dance, weeks ago, and the thought of finding someone and holding them close had sat within him and bloomed until the petals had obscured his heart from view. “I should never have brought this up.”

Her brows sank and knit. Cor could feel each of the guards at the door openly staring, all the working sounds that once surrounded them fallen silence. No voices muttered. Aulea had spoken much too loudly for his liking. “I want to keep teaching you,” she said, only lowering her voice to a satisfying murmur when Cor turned his head, outright scowling towards all those who peered at them. The voyeurs immediately turned their eyes away, never ashamed but spooked, fully aware of the reputation of the Leonis boy. A trail of bloody noses and busted lips followed him around every corridor. All noisy work resumed as if there had never been a disruption, though the guards shared amused glances, unable to be spooked by a still stick thin fourteen year old. It made Cor’s temper flare, his hands clenched into fists, and only Aulea’s presence forced him to keep it covered, a lid that barely fit over a rickety pot of boiling water. “I like teaching you, and I know you can do it. I just would hate for you to give up so soon.”

Unable to calm, Cor turned the scowl onto her. Nursing his wounded pride he crossed his arms and closed himself off to her for good. “Gonna end up breaking your damn toes. I don’t want to do this anymore. Dancing is stupid anyway.”

It was easy for Cor to storm away from his problems. Rush away and cool off, punch a wall or bait some asshole out in the street who looked at him the wrong way. At all times Cor was ready to stomp out of the room at a moments notice and Cor almost turned on his heel and spat a foreign curse at the guards. But then he saw Aulea’s shoulders slump heavily and her expression fall, hurt written in every line of her sweet face. Cor froze up and she swallowed.

“I understand,” she said in a small voice, so tiny Cor had to strain to hear her. “I’m sorry you feel that way. I liked having this, though. Liked spending time with you.” She sighed, and it caught her swept fringe, blowing out of her eyes. “You have training with Clarus and Sorrel, Regis helps you learn Lucian and you protect him, and I - I just like being around you, and…” her lips pressed tight. Those arms wrapped around herself. Even with a few years and inches on Cor she seemed to shrink before his eyes. “I just wanted to have that. I guess we can maybe find something else but I know we don’t share that much in common.” Her laughter emerged hollow. “I understand you don’t want to. I know it’s not interesting at all.”

In the face of her disappointment Cor could no longer bluster. Humiliation was steadily replaced with guilt. It was an unfamiliar mix of emotions, his rage too often uncontainable, and while disbelief was familiar the joy was not. Happiness warmed him to his core, surprise that someone like Aulea had wanted to spend time with Cor, her pleasant nature with his prickly suspicion. Change had never come easily to Cor and the bustling city of Insomnia alongside the scheming built into the very foundations of the Citadel hardened up his shell, even as the princling who he guided him to what Regis insisted on calling home strove to settle his nerves and soften him up. Cor was a boy of rough calluses and bisecting scars, bristling rage, while Regis was carefully spoken and Aulea was a woman of wit. Clarus was gruff and Sorrel cheery, all finding a firm place with each other, and Cor didn’t know how to change his shape carefully enough to slot inside with them perfectly whilst remaining himself.

Maybe he could start by taking her hand, by accepting the warmth that she offered him without hesitation. His feelings were in no way her burden to bear, and maybe in all of this they could be close. Never more, but a true friend sounded good enough.

In the moments he took to wonder Aulea had composed herself again. She bore her teeth in a smile. “Clarus might like to train with you before lunch,” she said, as lightly as if her feelings had never once been hurt. “Perhaps you can catch him upstairs, with Farrant. I should make sure everything is progressing for our guests.” Smile still terse, she sank into a low curtsy - and Cor captured her hand before he could think twice.

She froze, caught entirely off guard. Uncertain eyes met with his. Cor held her wrists with all the delicacy he could muster, afraid of smudging her skin. His thumb rest against the prominent bones of her knuckles.

“I’m sorry.” He kept his head low but his eyes upon hers, no matter how heavy and stifling they felt. Honesty never came easily to those who had to steal and hide away to survive, he knew, but she deserved it. “We can carry on. You can teach me.”

The tension thinned out only a touch. Her smile was almost genuine. “It’s fine. I know it’s not your idea of a good time.”

It wasn’t. Dancing was a nightmare in a dozen different ways. Standing by the side of the royal family at formal events was a far greater fate than being amongst the teeming crowd, in the midsts of their scheming and grandstanding. Fathers wouldn't push their daughters onto him, hoping anyone close to the king would introduce their hapless child to the already promised prince, make them appear wonderful to the bored Mors sitting high above, barely gracing anyone with conversation, not even his son. Others would mistake him for young serving staff, stiff and lost in a cheaper suit, not quite tall enough to see over the crowd. Being a man never taught to dance kept him from the worst of the fray but nobles were merciless. It was only a matter of time that one would refuse to take no for an answer, force him into stepping out with their trembling daughter and Cor's inelegant steps would humiliate himself and the prince he wished to serve. Mors already second guessed Regis' choice in friends for long enough. Cor would not be the one to cause even greater friction between father and son. 

At their side, Cor knew all eyes were on him. They expected a flawless performance at all times, lest schemers attempt to catch them off guard, and he knew no better performer than Aulea who had been born and bred in the game Cor loathed. He wished there was a kinder fate for her. Something simple and genuine, the warmth of a family and an easy, happy life. He wished it for them both.

But they were together and he took comfort in that. Learning to dance had the added bonus of spending time with the woman who made his heart skip. A crush that would not budge, an admiration, a fawning feeling in his chest that Cor knew and hated. Her very presence made his palms sweaty and his mood defensive, a pretty girl who smiled at a wild thing like him. But he cherished her in a far different manner than he did the others, and if he could dance with her for even a minute, all those bruised toes and mockery might have been worth it.

“It’s not,” he admitted, and Aulea laughed very softly. “But being with you is.”

The barriers between their languages might have made his words too blunt, striking the heart of the matter with no cushioned blow but when she blushed, pink high on her cheeks he didn’t care at all. Hope lit up inside her and she giggled, lifting and relaxing out of her curtsy. Cor breathed hard and forced himself to step in close. Nervousness had his knees weak, hyper aware of what the world around him did and said, but even as the world went quiet again he focused on her. Her smile, her friendship. Nothing more, but Cor needed nothing more than she was willing to give.

"I want you to teach me to dance," he asked again with determination, and her beaming smile was beautiful, her reaching hand in his warm, and nothing else in the world mattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a tumblr, at officialcoreleonis!

**Author's Note:**

> I have a tumblr, at officialcorleonis!


End file.
